


take heart

by epsiloneridani



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Plo Koon is a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24266128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsiloneridani/pseuds/epsiloneridani
Summary: A mission goes awry.Wolffe just needs to knowPlo'buiris all right.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 35
Kudos: 312





	take heart

It was only a matter of time.

The footsteps are soft and shuffling, too slow to be one of his brothers. They stop a few feet inside the door. Wolffe takes a deep breath.

The silence hangs heavy between them.

“Commander Wolffe,” Plo Koon says at last.

“General Plo,” Wolffe says, and despite the presence of what is more than technically a superior officer, he doesn’t so much as shift. He’s in fatigues, not armor. His shoulders are set back sharply; his hands are clasped behind him. Hyperspace streaks past the wide window panels, casting the observation deck in a rippling blue glow.

Usually, he finds it soothing.

“I thought I might find you here,” Plo Koon says. His voice is as gentle as ever, even and inviting; Wolffe steels himself against it. The footsteps start up again, just enough to bring Koon to stand beside him.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

“Did Boost tell you that?”

“I don’t need anyone to tell me when you’re not well, Commander,” Plo Koon says neutrally. He folds his hands in front of him. His posture is relaxed; he exudes a calm that Wolffe has always desperately envied: content to be still until the moment is right to move.

Briefly, Wolffe wishes that he’d move now.

Wolffe snorts. “I’m fine,” he says shortly. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“There are lies we tell ourselves and lies we tell others about ourselves,” Koon says. “Which is this?”

If he’s honest, it’s both. But if he had any intentions of being honest, he wouldn’t be lying in the first place. “Neither.”

Plo Koon inclines his head slightly, but doesn’t turn to look at him. Wolffe tenses.

“I’m all right, Commander,” Koon offers a long moment later. “I have been to nearly every medical bay on this ship and cleared by as many personnel as your brothers could convince to look at me.”

Boost and Sinker are responsible for that, Wolffe knows. “Stay out of my head, General.”

“I would never touch your mind without your express permission, Commander.”

Wolffe grits his teeth. What Plo Koon doesn’t say, he’s long since learned to hear. “I know you’re fine,” he says. His voice trembles. He clears his throat harshly. “All right?”

Koon’s hand settles on his shoulder, a steady, grounding grip. Some of the tension coiled in Wolffe’s back eases on instinct and he curses himself for the response. Nothing’s wrong, he said. Everything’s fine, he said. He’s done so well at being convincing about it that he’s failed to convince even himself.

“I’m all right,” Plo Koon says again.

Wolffe swallows thickly and presses his eyes closed against the burning sting. “I’m sorry,” he blurts, and stops. So much for steeling himself.

“You were not at fault.”

Should have been there sooner. Never should have left his side. “If I’d stayed—”

“You would have been killed,” Koon says. “Or captured as well.”

“It should have been us,” Wolffe says. “If you hadn’t sent us ahead, we would have been there when they ambushed you.”

“The decision was mine and mine alone.”

“Why?” Wolffe demands hoarsely. “If you felt something in the Force, then why would you…”

Koon’s grip on his shoulder tightens. He doesn’t answer; just for a moment, an infinitesimal beat, his breath hitches.

In that instant, Wolffe knows.

“You didn’t want me to be captured again,” he says, almost accusingly. Making a tactical decision based on his personal feelings: it sounds more like Rex’s general than Wolffe’s. Skywalker is impulsive and self-sacrificing and wears his heart on his sleeve. Wolffe has no doubt that Plo Koon cares deeply for his men, but he balances that care with an abundance of foresight and control.

“It’s not just that,” Koon says. It’s not convincing. “I knew that as the ranking officer, they would be more likely to take me alive. There were too many of them for us to repel without reinforcements. This gave the men a chance to regroup. I knew that you would come for me as soon as you had taken the fortress.”

And they had. Plo Koon had broken out on his own before their arrival; they’d found him wandering the labyrinth, clutching at his ribs and clinging to his saber. Only once Wolffe called out to him did he lower it – and collapse.

Wolffe can’t remember the last time he felt so afraid.

“You should have let me stay,” Wolffe says. “I’m your second. If they took you alive, then the odds are they would have taken me too. You know that.”

Plo Koon’s hand trembles slightly before he stills it. “I know, son,” he says quietly, and Wolffe’s reminded that not three weeks ago he was huddled against _Plo’buir’s_ chest with his face swathed in bandages. “I know.”

Wolffe blows out a long breath. His throat is tight. “You could have gotten killed,” he says.

“I made myself a decoy to draw them away,” Plo Koon says. “The only life that was at stake was my own.”

One life is more than enough. Isn’t that what he’s always saying? What he’s always telling them? “You’re the _general_ ,” Wolffe snaps. His heart pounds in his chest, louder, faster.

“And does that mean my life holds greater value?”

“No,” Wolffe says, slower than he should.

Plo Koon guides Wolffe to face him, then takes hold of his shoulders. “I was not going to risk you and your brothers in a doomed engagement,” he says firmly. “This was the only way.”

Wolffe sighs. “There’s no convincing you, is there?”

Koon’s mouth is hidden behind his breathing mask. There’s a smile to his face anyway. “There most certainly is not.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Koon waits a beat, then carefully draws him to his chest. Wolffe presses his face to _Plo’buir’s_ shoulder and wraps his arm around him and clings. Here. Safe. Alive.

“I’m all right, _ad’ika_ ,” Plo Koon says softly. “I’m all right.”

For the moment, at least, Wolffe lets himself believe it.

\--


End file.
